


Hiss

by Shoulder_Devil



Series: Meow Mix [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Acceptance, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, mild to moderate body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: Some of her cats are missing, they have disappeared through a door that shouldn’t be there. It’s yellow, she doesn’t like yellow much and would never paint a door that color, yet, here it is, plain as day in her wall, mocking her, stealing the things she loves.





	Hiss

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know anymore, I guess I'll just keep writing sinister cat fics in the Magnus universe.

Some of her cats are missing, they have disappeared through a door that shouldn’t be there. It’s yellow, she doesn’t like yellow much and would never paint a door that color, yet, here it is, plain as day in her wall, mocking her, stealing the things she loves.

As she stares, another of her babies slinks between her legs and disappears through the cat flap. “No, Bobbi Sox, come back here!”

How could this be happening? That door shouldn’t be there! Even if it did belong then the cat flap cut into the bottom should lead to her back garden. Yet every time one of her multitude of cats ventured through, she caught a flash of swirling green wallpaper, wait, wasn’t it red? No, it had certainly been green when Bobbi passed through. 

She wants to block the hole in the door that shouldn’t exist; to keep any more of her companions from going through. If she does then the missing won’t be able to return. She can't bear that thought, to consign them to apparent oblivion. Indecision paralyzes her as much as fear.

The door’s presence tickles something in the back of her brain that tells her, “No, this is  _ wrong _ do not touch it.” It screams, “ _ THREAT _ ” yet every one of the cats that wander near it show no sign of distress. 

The door is in her kitchen, there is no way to shut it off from the rest of the house. She has done her best to confine her remaining cats to the bedrooms, or the bath but when she started collecting they scattered, sensing her distress. Whenever she manages to catch one that has ventured out from behind an armchair or from under the couch she tries to put them with the others. A cat cannot abide a closed door and whenever she cracks open to place her charge inside, those on the other side are waiting to escape. 

When she makes chase, more often than not, they find their way to the wrong door. Sometimes pausing to sniff at it, but they all go through eventually and none have come out. 

She is on the floor in a heap, crying in despair. She doesn’t have anyone to call who would help her. Her family calls her a hoarder, tried to have her institutionalized, they don’t understand her calling. She has never been of those filthy people who surround themselves with waste, she is passionate about animal rescue. Specifically cats. 

The doctor they took her to speak with agreed, but warned her about the health hazards of too many animals in a single location.  She knows, and keeps a close eye on the health and safety of her colony, not letting it get too large. Parvo can spread like wildfire and giardia can be difficult to fully eradicate, were it to gain a foothold. Any new rescues are quarantined from the rest until they have a clean bill of health.

She’s not an official rescue center but she does adopt out when she can find someone willing, kittens never stick around for long but adult cats tend to stay. More often than not, cats are left with her by those that have heard of her through a friend or worse, dropped off at her doorstep in a box with a note. 

Her strays are her family and they are  _ leaving _ . One by one they make their way through the door. Even the ones locked away have somehow been released from protective custody. Some of them rub against her or sit in her lap for a time but eventually, they all abandon her. 

The voice in her head screams for her to run, to leave this place and never look back. It is not worth it, they are GONE. That door  _ should _ . _Not. Be. There_. And yet…

And yet.

She rises slowly, brushing the long hair Franklin left behind when he climbed in her lap for a time before leaving like all the others. The door is blurry in her tear filled eyes. She blinks them clear and reaches a shaking hand to the black handle in the mocking yellow door. 

It swings open without protest, a long hallway stretched out before her. There is no sign of her missing cats. For the briefest moment she has the impression of a gaping maw, ready to swallow her whole. Grief pulls at her. Did this door, this hallway, this hell, consume everything she loves? If that’s the case it might as well take everything.

She steps forward. 

She hears the door close behind her but she ignores the sound and strides forward, head high. Her tears are spent, her fear burned away, or perhaps so far gone as to snap. It doesn’t matter, the effect is the same. 

She scans the hall for signs of her missing friends. There are portraits on the walls, of the same hallway she walks, looking closely at one, she can see a cat in the distance. Each painting features a different one of her rescues, sitting nearly out of sight. She calls their names, calls to Freddie, to Binx, to Ginger, and Flot; to all of her adopted children. The sound quality in this place is… off. It swallows her voice only to have it echo back harshly in her ears, warped, hollow.  

Giving up on using names, she starts imitating their voices. Many of those under her care are more than a bit chatty, they talk to each other and to her. She meows, murrs, squeaks, chirps, and purrs. The purr seems to have a soothing effect on her, keeping her somewhat calmer as she travels the gently curving halls, she cycles back to that call more often than the others. 

Her own vocalizations buzz in her ears, amplifying painfully. She stops but the sounds continue, even louder. Dropping to her knees she clutches her head and screams. 

She feels something… shift under her hands. Her ears, they have points. As they contort, they migrate to the top of her head, pulling into triangular hollows as they go. It itches and  _ pulls _ and strains at her skin. She tries to stop the movement but when she grips them her fingers are sharp and she has to let go before slicing her skin open. 

She pulls her hands away with a cry and sees pads forming on her palms. Dark fur sprouts along her fingers as her pointed nails slip into sheathes. 

“What is happening!?” she screams, or tries to. What comes out of her contorted throat is a horrific, twisted, yowl bleeding into a wet hiss of pain.

Clinging to the the thing that most recently gave her comfort, she tries to purr. A cat’s purr is not just something to express contentment, purring is also a response used to reduce pain and stress and may even promote healing; all things she desperately needs. Her tongue feels rough in her mouth, the barbs tickle her palate. It won’t roll like it should. She runs it along sharp teeth, her molars are gone, having drawn themselves into pointed canines. 

Sobbing, she curls into a ball, the hairless tail that tucks under her chin should surprise her but… with the day she’s having, it just is. She focuses on her breathing, trying to block out the pain. Half remembered Lamaze training bubbles to the surface. Instead of huffed breaths, a rumble works its way from her throat. 

Pleasant vibrations roll out of her mouth, fill her chest, soothe her soul. 

She closes her eyes to ride out the pain but something tickles the back of her brain. She is being watched, judged, so she opens her eyes. When she looks up she sees a man, no-- not a man, a thing. The thing is man-shaped with long curly hair, yellow to match the door, the vile door that brought her to this place. She hates this thing, this thing that took everything she loves from her. A wet noise builds up in the back of her throat and she lets out a long, angry hiss. He laughs- it laughs.

Her eyes slip closed again briefly, when they open two cats have appeared, one perched on each shoulder of the thing watching her. Another blink, more cats, some on this blond stranger, some on the floor around it. She blinks again, more cats. Again and again and again, every time more cats appear, surrounding him, it, her. They begin to approach on soft, silent feet.

There are so many, but she recognizes some of them now. Some she has seen on the streets near when she shops, hiding in the alleys and eating from garbage. Encompassed by the horde of strays and ferals she sees her cats and they see her.

They approach, surround her, a barrier between the others and the thing that stands in the middle of them. The pain comes again in waves as her bones shift. She can hear the cracking, feel them rearranging under her skin that now prickles with growing fur. 

Her clothes don't fit properly anymore. They hang loose and tangled around her new structure. The strays she adopted, now  her rescuers, nuzzle close, enveloping her, burying her beneath their warmth. She feels them purr against her, she joins with them. The reverberations soothe her agony and calm her chaotic thoughts.

In this moment there is nothing but the pain, the vibration, and the man that is not a man laughing.

She is smaller now and fits in among her peers. The laughing not-man changes its tone. A rumble builds from its chest that pushes on her from all sides; the waves of its vibrations build a Shepard’s tone, resonating with the frequency of uncounted purring cats. As the sound rises around her she feel safe, accepted, beloved.

Finally home among those that would accept her, she fights her way free of the shirt tangled around her. She stretches her new limbs and feels at home in the coiled muscles wrapped in dark fur. She test out her claws, swivels her ears, licks her whiskers, twitches her tail, arches her back, and meows. Yes, this will do, this is what she is now, what she was always meant to be. 

Fur and whiskers and tails and claws press in all around her. Her senses are sharper now as she sniffs her new companions to take in their scent. She is properly able to introduce herself now; to be known and now, to know.

The tall one comes closer and she is wary, back arching, a hiss in her throat, yet her companions are unconcerned. It Smiles with a mouth full of teeth, too many. It is a predator, like her, but she is not its prey. 

It regards her with something like curiosity. A now distant part of her remembers curiosity killed the cat and wonders just how literal that phrase could be.

“Why  _ hello _ there… I was not expecting that particular, reaction. It would seem my new friends are… full of,” It cocks its head, grinning wider, “surprises.”

It allows her to sniff an overlarge hand before running it along her back and scratching at the base of her tail. A rumble builds in her throat and she purrs in response to the touch. This time it is genuine enjoyment, not a stress response.

“Wonderful!” the things says pleased, as it scoops her off the floor, cradling her gently against a soft chest. “It seems Wanderers  _ can _ be capable of a true purr. All it takes is a little… distorting, ha, of their form.” It rubs her neck and coos, placing her on its shoulder, a position of honor. 

She is home, she is accepted, one of the colony, loved, cherished. Her throat rumbles in time with the others, filling the air with the sound of purring.

 

* * *

 

A yellow door has replaced the front door on the flat belonging to a woman with far too many cats. No one has seen her or most of her cats in some time. Just above the cat flap cut into that yellow door is a sign that reads, “Michael’s Cat Sanctuary.” 

If you knock, a man with golden curls and a too wide smile will happily take in any strays. Even if they aren’t cats. 

Yet.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Shepard's tone is an auditory illusion, giving the impression of an ever increasing (or decreasing) spiral of sound. They're pretty neat!


End file.
